


221 - Stuck in an Elevator Cute Meet

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: Cute meet, F/M, Fluff, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 17:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17390957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompts  "you and Van are strangers to each other and get stuck on an elevator" and “a fic based on Van asking the reader about going swimming in his pool and she actually can’t swim but doesn’t wanna sound silly so agrees to it and basically nearly drowns and he saves her etc. Leading to cute swimming lessons and other cute van fluff.”Bonus mini request of watching a reality competition show with Van (trashy is preferable).





	221 - Stuck in an Elevator Cute Meet

Completely enthralled in your novel, you'd hardly looked up from the pages at all. It was your mild super power to be able to navigate buses and city streets whilst simultaneously reading. You never bumped into people or walked out onto the road. It did mean though, that you were often not entirely aware of the people around you and the unfolding situations. So, when the only other person in the elevator started to speak to you, what he said came as a surprise. You'd not heard his frantic pressing of any and all buttons.

"Um… What do we do?" he asked. You looked up. He was your age and had brown hair that he kept messing up by running his nervous hands through it. You read the fear in his face.

"Sorry?"

"The elevator… isn't moving… hasn't for, like," he answered, checking his phone, "…couple of minutes,"

"Oh, really?" you replied, putting your book in your bag and stepping closer to him, pressing all the same buttons he had.

"No, I'm just fucking with you 'cause I love being trapped in small fucking spaces." You looked over at him, not appreciating the nastiness in his voice. "Sorry! Fuck. Sorry. I'm just…"

"Claustrophobic?"

"No… small spaces just do my head in. But, ah… yeah, would love to get out of 'ere sooner rather than later, love," he said. You nodded and pressed the buttons again. Nothing. There were no sounds coming from the speaker; no creepy elevator music, no voice of reassurance that someone knew you were trapped.

Pulling your phone out, you checked for reception. It was limited, but your phone had connected to an open wifi network in the building. You iMessaged the friend you were meant to be meeting on level seven and asked her to go find help. She replied immediately with a little police emoji and a thumbs up.

"The cavalry is coming," you announced. The guy nodded and leant against the wall of the elevator with his head pressed firmly to it. You watched him purposefully take control of his breathing. Counting it out in your head, you measured he was breathing in… two… three… four… and out… two… three… four… You were still staring at him when he opened his eyes. "Sorry," you said quickly, going to walk away but getting as far as the opposite wall. You slid down and sat cross-legged. Pulling your book out, you began to read again.

…

Again, it was the guy's voice that broke your reading concentration.

"It's been ten minutes!" he called in a surprised tone. Your attention snapped to him and you watched him stare at his phone in disbelief. He hadn't really been speaking to you since your face was buried in your book, but he took the opportunity. "How much longer do you think it's gonna be?" he asked.

"I don't know. I'll message my friend again."

She told you that she'd only just been able to find someone that knew anything about maintenance of the building. It seemed very likely you'd be there for a long time still.

"Do you want the good news or the bad news?" you asked the guy. His head rolled to look at you. The desperately sad look on his face would have made you chuckle it was that melodramatic, but there was an edge of authenticity to it. Despite what he said, his tapping feet and shaking hands told you he did have claustrophobia. "The good news is that she's found someone to help, or something. Bad news is it's probably gonna be a while yet."

He groaned and purposefully hit his head back on the wall.

"This is fucked," he muttered.

"Um… Can I… help…?" you asked slowly, unsure of what you could offer him.

"I'm hungry," he said.

"Oh! Here!" you replied quickly, happily. You pulled a KitKat from your bag and held it up.

"Not takin' your chocolate, love,"

"No, seriously, have it. Your stress is stressin' me," you said, crawling across the floor and sitting next to him. You held the KitKat out but he wouldn’t take it. "What if we go halves?" you offered, opening it and snapping it in two.

You took your half and left the rest in the packet, then put it on his thigh. His legs were stretched out in front of him, all lanky in his skinny jeans. He hesitated before caving, and he chewed the chocolate, momentarily calmed. He had a bottle of water and shared it with you. Very bleak picnic over, you sat silently.

"I'm Van, by the way," he said.

"Y/N… Do you study here?" you asked. You were trapped in an elevator in the university's admin building. It seemed like the logical first question to ask.

"Oh, I don't go to uni. Just here to sort some stuff out. Some of the music students are gonna come watch my band's soundcheck and set up and stuff next week. 'Cause my friend works here," he explained.

"That's cool. So that's what you do? You're in a band?"

"Yeah. Yep. And, uh, you go here? Study?" he asked. His hands were still twitchy, and he was twisting the lid of his water bottle off and on.

"Yeah. Final year now. Just got exams to go then I am free,"

"If you get out of this fuckin' lift," he replied deadpan. You looked over at him. It was half serious, half joke. You knocked your shoulder against his.

"Yeah, which we probably won't. I mean. We're gonna die in here. Is it just me, or are the walls getting closer," you said, watching his face contort.

"That ain't funny," he said.

"Isn't it? Probably because I'm not joking. Seriously. Last time I looked up I couldn't see that pattern, now I can," you said pointing to the elevator ceiling. Van looked up then quickly glanced back down at you.

"You were so nice a second ago, with ya KitKat. What you doin' this for?" he asked with a grin.

"I get mean when I'm bored," you replied. He laughed and for the first time since stepping into the elevator, he was genuinely distracted from the small space. That had been your aim. "What about you? What do you do for fun?"

"Well, I don't torture people like you… so…" he said, to which you laughed and nodded. "Um… nothing much. Most of my time is spent doing stuff for the band. If I'm not doing that, I want to be, you know? So, I'll be writing. Uh… love a smoke in the kitchen with my mates. Fifa. 'Bout it really… What about you?"

"Oh, just the torturing. It's all I do."

The more you got Van to talk and listen, the calmer he became. In the beginning, you were just trying to prevent him from having an anxiety attack to save yourself from the stress of that. The longer you sat next to him though, the more specific your questions got. You genuinely wanted to know about him and he focused intently on you as you told him about yourself. The conversation lasted an hour, continually punctuated with updates from your friend about where they were at with the rescue.

After that, you both were getting tired from the heat and lack of food. Shuffling down a little bit, you leant back on the wall and looked up at Van.

"You okay?" you asked him. He nodded. "Still doing your head in?"

"Uh… yeah… Just feel… not comfortable," he replied.

You held your hand out to him, fingers spread apart in an invitation. He took it without needing you to explain, and his tight grip was an implicit thank you.

After twenty more minutes, the elevator doors were pried open.

You and Van stood quickly, and he pulled you into a hug.

"Thank fuck," he mumbled into your hair. You laughed and nodded. Stepping apart, he looked at you. "Thank you, for…"

"Helping you not freak out?"

"Yeah… Uh… If I had to get stuck in an elevator with anyone, glad it was you,"

"What a compliment," you said, glancing over at where firefighters were putting boards between the doors to keep them separated. "But, same,"

"Maybe…" he started and the strange hesitation made you look over at him,   
"…we could hang out again. Preferably not in a small space?"

…

There are a million things we never really consciously think about ourselves until there is a great need to. Your complete inability to swim was one of them. Normal people, you assumed, probably did know if they could or could not swim. Logically, the fact that you had not been in the ocean or a pool since you were about thirteen told you that you were probably the non-swimmer variety of human. Despite knowing that, you had just never really thought about it. 

You liked winter and books and chili hot chocolate and knitted cardigans, not summer and beaches and coconut water and bikinis. Maybe it was like Van and his claustrophobia; yeah he knew he didn't much like small spaces, but it wasn't until he was put in them that it became an objective and concrete fact about himself. As you sat on the edge of Van's pool in your best friend's swimwear, it really only dawned on you for the first time that you really, really did not know how to swim. You didn't even know how to, like, not sink to the bottom. Drowning seemed inevitable.

After the great elevator escape, Van had messaged you daily. Within four days of meeting him, he'd invited you over for Saturday afternoon drinks and a swim. The weather was getting hot and he probably thought it would make a cute date. As you sipped the cider he'd bought especially for you and you watched him swim under the surface of the water, you were inclined to agree.

To seem less suspicious, you climbed down the steps into the pool and sat with only your head above the water. It would give the appearance that you liked water and were not terrified of going any deeper in. Van casually floated over to you and you let him sip from your bottle.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"Being very quiet,"

"Maybe this is how I always am," you replied.

"That's fine if ya are. Just checking."

He sat next to you and you spent an hour drinking and splashing at each other. The sun was getting ready to set, and the cement around the pool had roasted in the afternoon heat, making it unbearable to walk on. You yelped as you ran from the water across to the table under the back porch to collect strawberries and more alcohol. When you returned and sat back on the step, Van stood up in the pool. He'd been swimming short laps back and forth across the width of it. He waded through the water and sat on the step below you, between your legs. With his back to your chest, you wrapped your arms loosely around his neck.

"Hi," he whispered when you rested your head on his shoulder.

"Hey," you whispered back.

"Havin' a good time?"

"Ah-huh. You?"

"Yep. You being this close is helping."

You snorted and pushed him off you and into the water. He surfaced and shook his hair out like a puppy. "Rude!" he called.

"Got too cheesy," you said with a laugh.

…

When the sun went down, flood lights automatically came on. The water was dark though, and it unnerved you deeply. You sat on one of the sun lounges, wrapped in a couple of towels. Van sat on the still-warm concrete and you ate cheese and crackers and laughed with each.

When the song changed over, Van stood and held a hand out.

"Dance?"

You let Van spin you around and around. As you spun under his arm and pressed yourself into him, you felt yourself settle into your skin. He was someone you could very easily love. He was already someone you were wildly comfortable around. As Van's hands ran up and down your back, a wave of warm sleepiness came over you.

"Babe?" he whispered, slowly rocking you from one foot to the other. Still moving through the space, you kept your eyes closed and let Van guide.

"Mmmm,"

"Your skin feels hot," he said. If you knew him better you would have heard the smirk in his voice.

"Huh?"

When you looked up at him, you realised too late that you were on the edge of the pool. In one movement he stepped out over the water, pulling you with him. Under the surface, everything was dark. Your eyes reflexively stayed open, searching for the right way up. As you panicked, you started to choke on the water. Your brain wouldn't coordinate movement and when your head started to explode with pain, you closed your eyes and went still.

...

You felt Van's hands on you before you heard his terrified voice yelling your name. It was only a split second of perception before you were coughing chlorinated water up and twisting your body into a ball.

"Y/N!" he yelled in relief when you started to breathe again. "I am so, so fucking sorry!"

He helped you sit up as you continued to cough. His hand patting your back with force was helping. When an awareness of your surroundings returned, you looked around.

"What…?" you tried to croak out, but your throat was on fire.

"You almost fucking drowned. I just figured you could swim. I'm so sorry,"

"No, it's… it's alright. Should have said something,"

"No. Fuck, Y/N. Thought you were joking at first. Then when you went still and I pulled ya out and you was all blue… Fuck," he said again and fell back to sit on the ground, his head in his hands. "I just about killed you… on the first fuckin' date." It wasn't a joke but it made you laugh. He looked over at you, shaking his head. "Should we like, take you to the hospital to make sure there isn't water in your lungs or whatever?"

"No. No, I'm fine. Just… cold now,"

"Yeah. Near-death experiences do that. Come on. Inside. We'll get you changed- I mean- you… you can change… yourself… Um. Come on."

He stood and helped you up, half carrying you inside by the waist. The guilt he was feeling was going to manifest in a million little acts of remorseful kindness. The first was the gentle hold he had on you. The second was letting you pick something to watch when you returned from changing into the jeans and shirt you brought with you.

As you flicked through television stations, Van brought chamomile tea to you, along with the whole squeezy bottle of honey. When you stirred the right amount into your drink, you squeezed some of the honey onto your finger and sucked it off. Van watched with a smirk.

"Want some?" you asked, putting more on your finger and holding it up for him. It wasn't clear to you or him if you were messing. Regardless, he dipped his head and held your hand, then put your finger in his mouth and sucked the honey off. You could feel his tongue run along your skin. When your hand was returned you looked at it then back at Van. "I can't tell if I liked that or not," you whispered without thinking. He laughed.

"I did… Come on. Pick something."

Every channel was playing some sort of reality show. Any that weren't a competition didn't hold your interest. Many of them you flat out refused to watch; Toddlers and Tiaras was child abuse, The Bachelor was a kick in the gut to people fighting for same sex marriage rights. You caught the tail end of a challenge in Survivor, but changed channels when tribal council got nasty.

"Hey!" Van called.

"I don't like when everyone is mean to each other," you said. He laughed.

When you found America's Next Top Model and made ohhh and ahhh sounds at the photoshoot, Van looked over at you.

"You kidding me? This is the bitchiest show!"

"Yeah but I like seeing how the photos turn out,"

"No. Next," Van said, taking the remote from you.

Van wouldn't give any screen time to singing competitions. He wasn't about handing a career to someone "without the work." You snorted at how pious in his work ethic he was. Neither of you cared much for dancing, and you both agreed that only the first few seasons of Big Brother were good.

"Okay, here we go!" he announced. Worst Cooks in America.

You both cackled at the stupid mistakes made by the contestants.

"How the fuck did they think that was going to work?!" you asked in honest astonishment.

"Even I know how to boil an egg,"

"Yeah and-Oh my god! No!" you yelled at the same time as Van snorted and chuckled. You had both reacted to a contestant making the decision to deep fry all their yet-to-be-cooked food in the interest of time. As raw carrots bubbled in the fat, you hid your face in a pillow in Van's lap. "I cannot fucking watch this. It's giving me anxiety,"

"Yeah… The way this one is cleaning them prawns is makin' me feel ill," he replied, changing the channel.

You wriggled around on the couch to get more comfy, but got distracted as you glanced up and saw Sue and Mel on the screen.

"Leave it!" you yelled too loudly. Van laughed.

"Was gonna. Love this. Suspense. Good cooking. Funny," he said.

"And they're all so nice!"

It was a marathon of old episodes, so you and Van cuddled down together. You could tell he had turned the air conditioning in his house to its highest setting. The air was freezing, allowing you to revel in the cosiness of the blankets and hugs. His energy bill would be huge, but it would obviously a price he was willing to pay to get a little closer to you.

"Y/N?" Van said three episodes in. Someone had just fucked up simple shortbread and you had both been upset for them.

"Yeah?"

"I'm really sorry that I almost killed you,"

"Van, you didn't almost kill me. Stop apologising. It was an accident. You helped me like I helped you in the elevator. Nobody was ever gonna die. It's fine," you replied, not looking away from the television. He was watching you carefully though.

"Are you afraid of water like I am of small spaces?"

So, he was admitting to that. His walls were already coming down around you.

"I don't know… I don't think so," you said looking up at him. "I just don't love swimming… but maybe that's because I evidentially cannot swim,"

"Be no good on Survivor then,"

"Yeah, no. Not good at like… exercise and stuff either,"

"Plus you're too nice. Don't imagine you to be the nasty, backstabbin' type," he added with a shrug, pulling you closer into him.

"M'not," you agreed.

You placed bets on who would win star baker and who would leave. Instead of money, the stakes were any act the other could perform. Getting the biscuits from the kitchen. Neck massages. Kisses to hands and wrists and necks and cheeks. The longer the game went on, the more boldly flirtatious Van got. You were a little in love with him like that; it was such a stark contrast to both anxious elevator Van and guilty mouth-to-mouth resuscitation Van. The one you were bundled up with, the one that had created a cold climate of your very own, he was your favourite.

"Y/N? You fallin' asleep?" Van whispered near the end of the season. God knows what time it was. Whatever was happening out in the real world didn't much matter to you. It may as well have been on the other side of broken and permanently stuck elevator doors.

When you made a little squeak in reply, Van smiled to himself and made sure the blanket was covering you nicely. He thought about the next day. If you weren't busy, he'd ask you to stay so you could learn to swim; you'd never be unsafe again.

When he was sure you were dreaming and happy, Van let himself fall asleep too.


End file.
